AIR AUSTRALIA

Tattoos tell sometimes where we have been or what we think once upon a time. Scars tell the real story.

The ”Old” Navy! My kind.

LITTLE KNOWN TIDBIT OF NAVAL HISTORY... ‪‪‪‪‪The U. S. S. Constitution (Old Ironsides), as a combat vessel, carried 48,600 gallons of fresh water for her crew of 475 officers and men. This was sufficient to last six months of sustained operations at sea. She carried no evaporators (i.e. fresh water distillers). ‪‪ However, let it be noted that according to her ship's log, "On July 27, 1798, the U.S.S. Constitution sailed from Boston with a full complement of 475 officers and men, 48,600 gallons of fresh water, 7,400 cannon shot, 11,600 pounds of black powder and 79,400 gallons of rum." ‪‪ Her mission: "To destroy and harass English shipping."Making Jamaica on 6 October, she took on 826 pounds of flour and 68,300 gallons of rum. ‪‪ Then she headed for the Azores, arriving there 12 November. She provisioned with 550 pounds of beef and 64,300 gallons of Portuguese wine. ‪‪On 18 November, she set sail for England. In the ensuing days she defeated five British men-of-war and captured and scuttled 12 English merchant ships, salvaging only the rum aboard each. ‪‪By 26 January, her powder and shot were exhausted. Nevertheless, although unarmed she made a night raid up the Firth of Clyde in Scotland. ‪Her landing party captured a whisky distillery and transferred 40,000 gallons of single malt Scotch aboard by dawn. Then she headed home.‪‪The U. S. S. Constitution arrived in Boston on 20 February 1799, with no cannon shot, no food, no powder, no rum, no wine, no whisky, and 38,600 gallons of water. ‪‪GO NAVY ‪‪

Flying Quotations and Truisms....

• God does not subtract from man's allotted time the hours spent while flying, but He extends harsh penalties for those who do not learn to land properly.

• The difference between fear and terror: fear is when your calculations show you may not have enough fuel to make it to your destination. Terror is when you realize you were right.

• Mommy, I want to grow up and be a pilot. Honey, you can't do both.

• When you see a tree in the clouds, it's not good news.

• The older I get, the better pilot I was.

• I'm at the age when I realize the best thing about flying fighters was free oxygen.

• Never fly the "A" model of anything

• Pilots - looking down on people since 1903.

• The average fighter pilot despite a swaggering personality and confident exterior is capable of feelings such as love, affection, humility, caring and intimacy. They just don't involve others.

• An idiot can get an airplane off the ground, It takes a pilot to get it back in one piece.

• Pilot dictum: remember, in the end, gravity always wins.

• You can only tie the record for flying low.

• Computers and black boxes may be replacing pilots, but pilots can be maintained easily and produced by unskilled labor.

• Many young, inexperienced pilots have delusions of adequacy.

• Flying is the art of learning to throw yourself at the ground and miss.

• Optimists invented the airplane. Pessimists invented the parachute.

From the archives “Öde to the DC-3 “



Thanks to Dr.Rich and Captain Billy

A tribute to the DC-3 Goony Bird. My first flight was in a Super Connie from La Guardia to Atlanta but my second was in a DC-3 from Atlanta to Biloxi Mississippi to meet my dad and begin our many moves from Air Force base to Air force base in the back of various Chevys. The Connie was smooth and quiet The DC-3 was loud and rattled and was bumpy and exciting….skip

It's too tough to die!



Now the DC3 has been grounded by EU health and safety rules



'It groaned, it protested, it rattled, it ran hot, it ran cold, it ran rough, it staggered along on hot days and scared you half to death.



'Its wings flexed and twisted in a horrifying manner, it sank back to earth with a great sigh of relief. But it flew and it flew and it flew.'



This is the memorable description by Captain Len Morgan, a former pilot with Braniff Airways, of the unique challenge of flying a Douglas DC-3.



It's carried more passengers than any plane in history, but - Now the DC-3 has been grounded by EU health and safety rules.



The DC-3 served in World War II , Korea and Vietnam, and was a favorite among pilots!



For more than 70 years, the aircraft known through a variety of nicknames --- the Doug, the Dizzy, Old Methuselah, the Gooney Bird, the Grand Old Lady --- but which to most of us is simply the Dakota --- has been the workhorse of the skies.



With its distinctive nose-up profile when on the ground and extraordinary capabilities in the air, it transformed passenger travel, and served in just about every military conflict from World War II onwards.



Now the Douglas DC-3 --- the most successful plane ever made, which first took to the skies just over 30 years after the Wright Brothers' historic first flight --- is to carry passengers in Britain for the last time.



Romeo Alpha and Papa Yankee, the last two passenger-carrying Dakotas in the UK , are being forced into retirement because of --- yes, you've guessed it --- health & safety rules.



Their owner, Coventry-based Air Atlantique, has reluctantly decided it would be too expensive to fit the required emergency- escape slides and weather-radar systems required by new European rules for their 65-year-old planes, which served with the RAF during the war.



Mike Collett, the company's chairman, says: "We're very saddened."



The end of the passenger-carrying British Dakotas is a sad chapter in the story of the most remarkable aircraft ever built, surpassing all others in length of service, dependability and achievement.

It has been a luxury airliner, transport plane, bomber, fighter and flying hospital, and introduced millions of people to the concept of air travel.

It has flown more miles, broken more records, carried more passengers and cargo, accumulated more flying time and performed more 'impossible' feats than any other plane in history, even in these days of super-jumbos that can circle the world non-stop.

Indeed, at one point, 90 percent of the world's air traffic was operated by DC-3s.

More than 10,500 DC-3s have been built since the prototype was rolled out to astonished onlookers at Douglas's Santa Monica factory in 1935.

With its eagle beak, large square windows and sleek metal fuselage, it was luxurious beyond belief, in contrast to the wood-and-canvas bone shakers of the day, where passengers had to huddle under blankets against the cold.

Even in the 1930s, the early Dakotas had many of the comforts we take for granted today, like on-board loos and a galley that could prepare hot food.

Early menus included wild-rice pancakes with blueberry syrup, served on bone china with silver service.



For the first time, passengers were able to stand- up and walk- around while the plane was airborne.



But the design had one vital feature, ordered by pioneering aviator Charles Lindbergh, who was a director of TWA, which placed the first order for the plane.

The DC-3 should always, Lindbergh directed, be able to fly on one- engine.



Pilots have always loved it, not just because of its rugged reliability but because, with no computers on board, it is the epitome of 'flying by the seat- of- the- pants'.



One aviator memorably described the Dakota as a 'collection of parts flying in loose formation', and most reckon they can land it pretty well on a postage stamp.



Captain Len Morgan says: 'The Dakota could lift virtually any load strapped to its back and carry it anywhere and in any weather safely.'



It is the very human scale of the plane that has so endeared it to successive generations.

With no pressurization in the cabin, it flies low and slow.



And unlike modern jets, it's still possible to see the world go by from the cabin of a Dakota.

(The name, incidentally, is an acronym for Douglas Aircraft Company Transport Aircraft.)



As a former Pan Am stewardess puts it: "From the windows, you seldom look upon a flat, hazy, distant surface to the world.

"Instead, you see the features of the earth --- curves of mountains, colours of lakes, cars moving on roads, ocean waves crashing on shores, and cloud formations as a sea of popcorn and powder puffs.'

But it is for heroic feats in military service that the legendary plane is most distinguished.



It played a major role in the invasion of Sicily, the D-Day landings, the Berlin Airlift, and the Korean & Vietnam wars, performing astonishing feats along the way.



When General Eisenhower was asked what he believed were the foundation stones for America's success in World War II, he named the bulldozer, the jeep, the half-ton truck, and the Dakota.

When the Burma Road was captured by the Japanese, and the only way to send supplies into China was over the mountains at 19,000 ft, the Chinese leader Chiang Kai-shek said: 'Give me 50 DC-3s, and the J**s can have the Burma Road .'



In 1945, a Dakota broke the world record for a flight with an engine out of action, travelling for 1,100 miles from Pearl Harbor to San Diego, with just one- propeller working.



Another in RNZAF service lost a wing after colliding mid-air with a Lockheed bomber. Defying all the rules of aerodynamics, and with only a stub remaining, the plane landed, literally, on a wing and a prayer at Whenuapai Airbase.



Once, a Dakota pilot carrying paratroops across the Channel to France heard an enormous bang.

He went aft to find that half the plane had been blown away, including part of the rudder.

With engines still turning, he managed to skim the wave-tops before finally making it to safety.



Another wartime Dakota was rammed by a Japanese fighter that fell to earth, while the American crew returned home in their severely damaged --- but still airborne ---plane, and were given the distinction of 'downing an enemy aircraft'.



Another DC-3 was peppered with 3,000 bullets in the wings and fuselage by Japanese fighters.

It made it back to base, was repaired with canvas patches and glue, and then sent back into the air.



During the evacuation of Saigon in 1975, a Dakota crew managed to cram aboard 98 Vietnamese orphans, although the plane was supposed to carry no more than 30 passengers.

In addition to its rugged military service, it was the DC-3 which transformed commercial -passenger flying in the post-war years.



Easily converted to a passenger plane, it introduced the idea of affordable air travel to a world which had previously seen it as exclusively for the rich.

Flights across America could be completed in about 15 hours (with three stops for refueling), compared with the previous reliance on short hops in commuter aircraft during the day and train- travel overnight.



It made the world a smaller place, gave people the opportunity for the first time to see previously inaccessible destinations, and became a romantic symbol of travel.

The DC-3's record has not always been perfect.



After the war, military-surplus Dakotas were cheap, often poorly maintained, and pushed to the limit by their owners.

Accidents were frequent.



One of the most tragic happened in 1962, when Zulu Bravo, a Channel Airways flight from Jersey, slammed into a hillside on the Isle of Wight in thick fog.

All three crew and nine of the 14 passengers died, but the accident changed the course of aviation history.

The local radar, incredibly, had been switched off because it was a Sunday.



The national air safety rules were changed to ensure it never happened again.



'The DC-3 was, and is, unique,' wrote the novelist and aviation writer Ernest Gann, 'since no other flying machine has cruised every sky known to mankind, been so admired, cherished, glamorized, known the touch of so many pilots and sparked so many tributes.



"It was without question the most successful aircraft ever built, and even in this jet-age, it seems likely that the surviving DC-3s may fly about their business forever."

This may be no exaggeration. Next month, Romeo Alpha and Papa Yankee begin a farewell tour of Britain 's airports before carrying their final passengers at the International Air Tattoo at RAF Fairford on July 16

But after their retirement, there will still be Dakotas flying in the farthest corners of the world, kept going with love, dedication and sheer ingenuity.



Nearly three-quarters of a century after they first entered service, it's still possible to get a Dakota ride somewhere in the world.



I recently took a DC-3 into the heart of the Venezuelan jungle --- to the "Lost World" made famous in the novel by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

It is one of the most remote regions on the planet --- where the venerable old planes have long been used because they can be manoeuvred like birds in the wild terrain.



It's a scary experience being strapped into a torn canvas chair, raked back at an alarming angle (walking along the aisle of a stationary Dakota is like climbing a steep hill) as you wait for take-off.

The engines spew smoke and oil as they shudder into life with what DC-3 fans describe as 'music', but to me sounded like the hammering of a thousand pneumatic-drills.

But soon you are skimming the legendary flat-topped mountains protruding from the jungle below, purring over wild rivers and the Angel Falls , the world's highest rapids.

Suddenly the ancient plane drops like a stone to a tiny landing strip just visible in the trees.



The pilot dodges bits of dismantled DC-3 engines scattered on the ground and avoids a stray dog as he touches down with scarcely a bump.

How did he do it without air traffic control and the minimum of navigational aids?

''C'est facile --- it's easy," he shrugged.



Today, many DC-3s live-on throughout the world as crop-sprayers, surveillance patrols, air freighters in forgotten African states, and even luxury executive transports.



One, owned by a Houston lumber company, had mink-covered door- k***s, while another belonging to a Texas rancher had sofas and reclining chairs upholstered with the skins of unborn calves..

In Jaipur, India, a Dakota is licensed for flying wedding ceremonies.



Even when they have ended their aerial lives, old Dakotas have become mobile homes, hamburger stands and hen houses.

One even serves as a football team changing room.



Clark Gable's private DC-3, which once ferried chums such as John and Bobby Kennedy, Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra and Ronald Reagan, is in a theme park in San Marino .

But don't assume it won't run again. Some of the oldest hulks have been put back in the skies.



The ancient piston-engines are replaced by modern turboprops, and many a pilot of a modern jet has been astonished to find a Dakota alongside him on the climb away from the runway.



So what is the enduring secret of the DC-3?





David Egerton, professor of the history of science and technology at Imperial College , London , says we should rid our minds of the idea that the most recent inventions are always the best.

'The very fact that the DC-3 is still around and performing a useful role in the world is a powerful reminder that the latest and most expensive technology is not always the one that changes history,' he says.



It's long been an aviation axiom that 'the only replacement for the DC-3 is another DC-3'.



So it's fortunate that at least one seems likely to be around for a very long time to come.



In 1946, a DC-3 on a flight from Vienna to Pisa crashed into the top of the Rosenlaui Glacier in the Swiss Alps.

The aircraft was not damaged and all the passengers were rescued, but it quickly began to disappear as a blinding snowstorm raged.

Swiss engineers have calculated that it will take 600 years for it to slide- down inside the glacier and emerge at the bottom.



The most asinine ruling ever dreamed up by a nightmare bureaucracy!!! I especially appreciate the part requiring "escape slides". On it's belly, you can step down from the aircraft floor to the ground.



And the article left out the tale of the "DC-2-and-a-Half". After being shot-up by Japanese fighters, the damaged wing of a DC-3 was replaced with one from a DC-2. It was then loaded up with refugees, and flown to safety.

Sent from the apex of a Stearman loop



Just in from Buzz and Dr.Rich

Buzz Yep, but we didn’t have a high blower for high altitude.



Only engine problems encountered was a prop governor cable break on takeoff and a short circuit in a generator turning it into a cutting torch (shut engine down) - both of these failures happened on the same day flying from Iwakuni, Japan to Osan, South Korea - actually we never landed at Osan - the generator failure occurred just east of the Korean ADIZ check in point (Whiting West). We had a 70 kt westerly headwind (winter) and approaching sunset flying over mountains, I decided to return to Iwakuni where our supply base (parts) was located.



Flying the “Hummer” from northern Japan , Korea, Taiwan and Philippines for a year wasn’t a job, it was a gift. A piece of history - flew the last 2 C-117s at MCAS Yuma to the Boneyard in ‘’79

Buzz

Dr.Rich Wright 1820’s like our T-28C?



On Sep 26, 2023, at 12:14 AM, Buzz Elliott



One of the C-117D’s (Super DC-3) I got to fly based out of MCAS Futenma, Okinawa.

180KTAS @ 10,000ft burning 110gph with a full load of Marines supporting Team Spirit in 1978.

Wright 1820’s - 54.5” MAP Take off, Climb at 45”, cruise at 30” & 1800 RPM. The “Hummer” was a hoot to fly.

We could fly CH-46 rotor blades easily in the cabin - try that in a C-12 (Beech King Air)!

Buzz

VOTE!

Here is a tale from Billy

Larry Duthie KIA ’67

November 10 , 2016 By : Billy Walker Category : WAR STORIES Comments : 4

Larry Duthie is a long-time friend from college/fraternity days at Arizona State University in the early 60’s. I recently discovered him alive and well after spending the past 40 years believing him shot down and KIA. Fortunately, the KIA part was incorrect!



I found Chuck Walling on The Wall, but I couldn’t find my pal Larry Dutie. ATΩ fratenity brother, Chuck Walling and his backseater were blown out of the skies of North Vietnam by a SAM (surface to air missile). A vibrant warrior one minute nearly vaporized the next. …and for what?



The progeny of my story, another ATΩ named Larry Duthy, was shot down and KIA in ’67 flying an A-4 Skyhawk off the carrier Oriskany. In fact, John McCain joined Larry’s sister squadron just a week after Larry was shot down. Then, as we know, McCain was shot down and ended up POW.



Duthie and I along with several other ATΩ brothers joined the Navy’s short- lived Naviator Program. Larry ended up in Attack Squadron 163 and we lost touch shortly before his deployment. Chuck Walling was an Air Force F-4 “Phantom” pilot. His remains were recently recovered and interred in Arlington.



Just a few years ago I received a interesting e-mail about a Major Glenn York who had flown some very heroic rescue missions in a CH-53 during our SE Asia War Games… York’s story was fascinating, but it was the photos at the bottom of the e-mail that were astounding! There was a couple of pictures of my buddy Larry Duthie sitting in York’s helicopter all smiles having been rescued.



HOLY SMOKE! Dooth wasn’t dead after all! I set to work tying to locate him. There was a Larry Duthie, publisher, in Walla Walla, WA. I called and asked to speak with him. He answered and I asked “are you the Larry Duthie who went to Arizona State University?” He admitted this and asked who I was. I said “Billy Walker and you’re dead!”



Ol’ Dooth tried to debate my accusation that he was dead. “…then get your sorry ass out here and prove to us otherwise!” He did. Dooth and his lovely wife Roz came out and you can imagine the party! It was a wonderful reunion. Later, Cheryl and I would travel to Walla Walla and do some more catching up which we did last summer.



All but a couple of us had thought Duth had been KIA for over 40 years! ATΩ Frank Conn knew. However, Frank had moved to Atlanta and was off our radar. Of course none of us had tried to contact Duthie and we didn’t know his family since he was from California and most of the other’s hailed from here in The Salt River Valley.



On that fateful day in 1967, Duthie had been trying to protect his flight lead who had been shot down. The same 37mm gun got Duthie as well. Warning lights and bells along with fire told ol’ Dooth he was in trouble.



Screaming thru the skies over North Vietnam Dooth ejected at over 500mph! This caused a big problem as A-4 doesn’t have leg restraints. One of Duthie’s legs was caught in the violent slip-stream and torn-up badly, but he made it down OK. Hunted by the enemy, he evaded for over 4 hours. Duthie was nearly rescued by a Navy SAR helicopter. Suddenly the helicopter was taking serious damage and door gunner was killed. So, the Navy SAR left the scene. Duthie was all alone. Shortly, he would be as dead as his flight leader (killed by angry enemy civilians) or would become a POW.



Fortunately for Duthie, USAF Maj. York was on channel and he succeeded where the Navy guys didn’t. Duthie was then air-lifted to hospital after hospital for a year or so. When he was finally rehab’d to flight status he then tried making contact with some of us. We were all young bachelors then and had blown to the four winds. Life went on and Duthie stayed dead in our minds until the serendipitous e-mail about his rescuer arrived.

Qualifications to be a friend? Some are difficult.



"What is a friend? I will tell you. It is a person with whom you dare to be yourself. Your soul can be naked with him. He seems to ask of you to put on nothing, only to be what you are. He does not want you to be better or worse. When you are with him, you feel as a prisoner feels who has been declared innocent. You do not have to be on your guard. You can say what you think, as long it is genuinely you. He understands those contradictions in your nature that lead others to misjudge you. With him you can breathe freely. You can avow your little vanities and envies and hate and vicious sparks, your meannesses and absurdities and, in opening them up to him, they are lost, dissolved on the white ocean of his loyalty. He under stands. You do not have to be careful. You can abuse him, neglect him, tolerate him. Best of all, you can be still with him. It makes no matter. He likes you - he is like the fire that purges to the bone. He understands. He understands. You can weep with him, sing with him, laugh with him, pray with him. Through it all - and underneath - he sees, knows and loves you. A friend? What is a friend? Just one, I repeat, with whom you dare to be yourself."



-- C.R. Beran --



Thanks Worm

Another great story.

Thanks to Shadow

I think this is the last one

I will say that me and my RF-8 friends did the same thing over the same territory and we have some tales and pictures that are pretty good…skip

BUZZ JOB

Let’s take a break… Just got a book from C.P. Weiland yesterday and read some

comments about flathatting… which in my day we called buzz jobs. It is the bane of

every squadron commander and the JO’s dream… what good is flying one of these

marvels if you can’t share the experience with someone on the ground… Sorry C.P., but like any other junior birdman… I loved it! My last tour in the Corps, I was flying the RF-4B Recon-Phantom. The mission and the plane were a flathatters’ dream. Ninety percent of our mission was single plane, solo sorties. And we made our living “down in the dirt”… We were about the only people left in the military; that did low level, VFR Operations on almost a daily basis. A normal mission for us was to leave El Toro, fly the standard instrument departure (SID)… and upon crossing Saddle Back Mountain, heading for the Salton Sea… call LA Center, request descent to FL 180 and upon arrival cancel the instrument flight plan for the next 40 minutes and go VFR down into the desert. We’d usually fly pre-planned routes and take pictures of all kinds of targets. This was usually from no higher than five hundred feet and seldom at less than five hundred knots. You have no idea what real speed feels like… until you’ve been 1.1 Mach, at less than 100 feet! What a rush! On occasion… targets of opportunity would pop up in the desert and the hunt was on… the only worry we usually had, was who was in the back seat… most guys in the squadron knew within a month who the players were… compared to the passengers… and if you had a good guy back there… You could have a lot of fun. Things were a little loose then, most of us had been to Vietnam and we were a pretty salty bunch. The kids flying in the military today couldn’t imagine the freedom we had… and the limits we

could stretch it to.

My secondary MOS was as a Maintenance Officer… I was also a post maintenance check pilot and as such, used to fly most of my functional flight tests over the Salton Sea… I hated the idea that if I ever had to shuck the bird (ejecting)… of coming down in the cold waters in Warning Area. The desert; from the Salton Sea east to the Gila Bend Range and south to the Mexican border and north to Hoover Dam was our playground… Got to know to know the area like the back of my hand.

About a month before the fateful day… one of the twidgets from the electronics shop… came up to me and said, “Boss… the next time you’re out in the desert… have the backseater crank this frequency into the HF Radio… and see what happens”.

Now my family’s Coat of Arms… bears a Latin inscription that roughly translates…

“Beware of those bearing gifts”. Heritage and experience made me alert… and suspicious (This bunch had already gotten me once… when they submitted… and I approved… a requisition chit for fallopian tubes). I looked this young stud right in the eye and said, “What is it”?

He was coy and evasive at first… but finally said, “I don’t know if it’ll work in the

airplane… but in the shop… with a dummy load on the antenna and on the lower

sideband… we can talk to the truckers up and down the freeway out here”. He went on to say he thought it might be fun. I took the frequency, put it into my survival vest and promptly forgot about it.

About a month later, Denny Fitz and I and our two backseaters set out to make a parts run over to Hill AFB. Hill was the Air Force Supply Depot for F-4 parts… and I had

made the acquaintance of an Air Force MSgt. there… who… with adequate priming,

could produce any hard to get part… RFI… Regardless of the paper work! Since the

Marine Corps was always sucking hind teat when it came to parts… this Air Force MSgt. became an irreplaceable cog in my maintenance management plan. In plain English… It was easier to steal the s**t from the Air Force than to get it through our own supply system! The Sgt. was our inside man, who made all things possible.

We had the forward camera bay of Denny’s airplane loaded with two inop parts (CSD

generators), which we would turn in for new ones… and two bottles of Jack Daniels

(primer fluid). We had a 0600 brief and by 0700 were on our way out to the aircraft…

It was a beautiful day… the stars and moon were in all the right places… the air was crisp and I was about to leave the surly bonds of earth once again. I used to love these early morning takeoffs! The lights were still bright and the nine to fivers’… were just getting up. Looking down on them, you couldn’t help but feel superior… the drones were just getting up to service the queen bee and here I was… high above them, seeing what they could only dream about… and I was getting paid to do it! Life was good.

In the brief, I was to lead going over and Denny would lead coming back… At the end of the runway, we did our run-ups, nozzle checks, controls, gauges… and I looked over at Denny and he gave me a thumb’s up… “Show Time… Rock and Roll”!

I absolutely loved the acceleration of the Phantom… it was awesome. After I rotated and got airborne, I came out of burner at 350 knots and let the good times roll… a few seconds later, Denny radios, “Two’s up” and I looked down on him as he joined up and slid into position.

The Phantom was an airplane that could look so different from various angles… from the side, it could look sleek and fast, especially the RF with its’ long slender nose… But if you looked down on top of the aircraft in flight… it looked fat and brutish… like a down lineman in football… ugly and not something you’d want to f**k with. From below, the way the wings melded with the fuselage… it once again looked rakish… The RF-4 looked like… and was the thoroughbred of the species. Like a young stallion… it just wanted to run… there was not a fighter on the west coast that could stay with us in basic engine or burner… We probably had the last true… Mach II birds left in the fleet… time and weight had slowed all the other F-4’s down. At the top end, only the Vigilante’s could give us a run for our money.

Note: Lost a race to a Vigi one day… passing 1.8 he just walked off and left me… I asked the guy in the wardroom later… “Just how fast is the son of a bitch”? With a twinkle in his eye he said, “Don’t know… never had enough gas to find out”.

Back to paradise; We’re climbing through about 23,000 feet… when my aircraft gave a noticeable thump, lurch and the “Master Caution” light came on… I looked down at the telelight panel and saw the right generator had dropped off line and the buss tie had stayed open… I already knew that from the planes actions and I’d started losing some of the associated equipment… I reset the generator and all seemed well for about two minutes when it failed again. Hmmm… Not looking good. I called Denny on the radio and explained what was going on.

Now flying on one generator was no big deal… but taking off with only one was

forbidden. If I continued on to Hill and landed… I’d be stuck there until the thing was

fixed. We talked it over and decided the best course of action was for Denny to go on and I’d RTB (return to base) to El Toro. I called LA Center on the radio and made

arrangements to split the flight… with Denny proceeding as planned… and me returning to El Toro.

That settled, I kissed Denny off and turned back to the southwest. Ho***rs was my

backseater that day (He was so named, because his wife had the biggest set of all the

wives in the squadron). As soon as I set course, I tried to re-set the generator once

again… voila… it worked. I looked down and we were approaching the town of Thermal, near the north end of the Salton Sea… and I still had almost a full bag of gas… 13,000 lbs internal… and still had some fuel in my drop tank. I decided it would be a shame to waste all that gas by dumping in order to land… So I called LA Center and asked for a descent to FL 180 and canceled my IFR flight plan and told them I would do a pickup in 45 minutes. Center approved and upon reaching 180… we canceled instruments.

Now Marines can get pretty creative, especially living on the edge as we were in those days… and we generally flew on hot mike… that way we didn’t have to key the mike in order to have a conversation. I asked Ho***rs if there was any place he wanted to see…

“Naw, let’s just cruise around”. After circling the Salton Sea… we were bored. Then I

remembered the note in my survival vest! I then said, “Hey Hoots… Crank up the HF radio”. A little explanation here... The RF-4 was the only Phantom that had the HF installed… as far as I know. It was so we could communicate while over “Indian territory” (North Vietnam) and out of UHF range. The frequency control box for the radio was in the rear cockpit and only the backseater could set frequencies… The pilot could however… once the frequency was set… take control

of the radio in the front cockpit by simply flipping a switch (a feature obviously designed by a pilot).

The radio itself was a boomer… 300 watts output and the whole tail of the aircraft was the antenna… and of course whatever altitude you were at (in this case about 17,000 feet)

… that was the height of the antenna. Plainly put… we were a 300 watt, mobile radio

transceiver… with a 17,000 foot antenna. We had a lot of range!

Hoots then asked me if I wanted to make a phone patch through NORAD? “Nope” I

replied, “I got a new frequency for you to try”. Hoots plugged in the frequency and tried to load the antenna… which in Marine parlance… meant he blew and whistled into the radio mike… No go… The antenna was not responding (actually this was common procedure with HF radios, base or mobile). I then said, “Let me try”. I took control of the radio and I blew into the mike and almost instantly… we started hearing… “Breaker,breaker one nine” and all kinds of other gibberish…

Reading my mind (not hard in those days); Hoots says… “You’re Not”! I said…

“F**kin’ A… This is too good to pass up”! For the next minute or so, we carried on the

last rational and sane conversation that would emanate from the cockpit for the next half hour… “Shadow… You know how many watts we put out”? “Yeah, 300… Now shut up and let me find one close”. “Do you know what the average CB radio puts out”? “No…listen”. “It’s about 6 watts max”. (F**kin’ backseaters… they were always so a**l retentive… and tech oriented) “So what”? “Well I was just thinkin’… If you do this, you may fry a few radios”. “Naw, ain’t gonna happen”.

No sooner had I said that, then we hear… loud and clear… “Breaker, breaker one nine… any station… this is Georgia Boy… How do you hear me…over?”

The thought then occurred to me, that great moments in life… can be preceded, by the simplest of statements!

Before Hoots could throw water on this great opportunity… I keyed the mike and said,

“Georgia Boy… This is Recon 05… I hear you loud and clear… How me, over”?

Immediately he came back… “Ooweee man”! “What kind of radio is that…?” “You just about blew me outta my cab! Hell Bubba… I’m illegal… and you pegged my needles”…

You a base station or something…?” “Nope”, says me… “I’m mobile”.

“Mobile my ass… You must be on some mountaintop around here… You better shut that thing down Bubba… before the Feds are on you… like stink on poo”!

“Georgia Boy, I assure you I’m mobile”.

“Yeah, right”.

At this moment… I had a stroke of pure genius… if I do say so myself… I had turned

back toward Thermal… I keyed the radio and said, “Georgia Boy… Where are you…?

I’ll prove to you I’m mobile”.

“Where are you”? He replied.

“I’m near Thermal”, I said.

“Well Son… I’m east bound, down… and just passed Desert Center… I got my… peddle

pegged to the metal… and I ain’t stopping until I gets to Phoenix…Arizona”!

“I’ll catch you before you get to Blythe… I’ll prove to you I’m mobile”…says I.

“Oowee… S**t man… you ain’t fooling me… You in Thermal… you got to be a base

station on a mountain top”.

“I assure you… I’m mobile”!

He then said something that was too good to be true…

“Recon… Old Georgia Boy… is east bound and down… You ain’t catching me… ‘Lessen

you in a Rocket ship”!

Hoots says, “Aww f**k… Why’d he have to go and say that”?

This was going to be one of those cherished little moments in life… By now, I knew he

was on Interstate 10… between Desert Center and Blythe… We had to be just southwest

of him about fifty miles away… Now if the genies of fate… didn’t urinate on the best of intentions of man… this was gonna be one for the ages!

I brought the power up…. and started downhill!

One of the marvels of the desert… is that on a clear day… from altitude… you could

literally see forever…. for miles and miles and miles. My mind went tactical… I knew he still believed I was really stationary… but just in case… I figured he would be checking his rear view mirrors. My plan was to come from the southwest… the desert… He wouldn’t be expecting me to come from there.

Hoots then chimes up… “You gonna boom ‘em”? You’re .98 and accelerating”.

(Sometimes I think the only reason those guys were back there… was to bring an extra conscience along… in case your own went into… fail mode… which I was fast

approaching)

“No… Don’t think I wanna do that”. (But my mind was saying… Great f**king idea

though!) With both consciences in order; I backed off about 3%…

Going supersonic was now off the table… so I had to think of something else… In a

nano-second it came to me… A few of us had discovered… that if you get fast enough… and low enough… out in the desert… You can leave a dust trail about a quarter of a mile behind you from your shock wave and wing vortices! (Before you say bulls**t… I have plenty of others who can back me up on this… You also need to understand… Low and fast was where we had to live in order to survive our mission… Some of us just liked to

go a little lower… and a little faster… than others.

Glenn Hyde saw it first hand one day when he tried to follow me down in the weeds in a straight F-4 (he was supposed to be flying chase at 5,000 feet)… his backseater later

accused both of us of trying to kill him. Glenn tried to follow me up the contour of a

mountain and then through a saddle in a ridge line… where he hit my jet wake; which

flipped him upside down at less than 100 feet AGL and at over 580 knots! Glenn had

been a crop duster before joining the Marines… and kept his cool, pushed on the stick

and climbed inverted until he had enough altitude to roll upright. His backseater was still

shaking over an hour later, during the de-brief. By the way, Glenn’s call sign was

“Crazy”… obviously a well deserved tribute.

Back to Georgia Boy...after less than five minutes… I was now down to about a thousand

feet, holding .98 Mach and could see the back of a white truck about 10 miles just

northeast of me… I keyed the radio and asked… “Georgia Boy… What color is the back

of your truck”?

“It’s white… like my Georgia Cracker ass”!

As he answered, I saw the truck ahead do a little wiggle in the road… He was obviously clearing his six!

I saw no other traffic on the road in either direction for over ten miles (even the car Gods

were co-operating). I told Hoots over the ICS… “Man, we’re getting’ down in the dirt…

it’s Show Time!

I dropped down as low as I dared… and timed the merge for me to be in the center

divider (it is very wide in that part of the desert)… just as we would pass abeam Georgia

Boy… About a half mile in trail… Hoots confirmed a dust trail behind us as I moved into

the center divider, keyed the radio and said…

“GEORGIA BOY… LOOK OUT YOUR LEFT WINDOW”!!!

At this point… and at those speeds and low altitude, everything is usually a blur in your

peripheral vision if you’re not looking sideways; all I remember seeing was the two

biggest white eyes I ever saw… Looked like goose eggs! I didn’t see much else… ‘cause

I was soo low and soo fast…

As the cab passed my peripheral vision… I stroked both engines into afterburner… and

pulled up at about 5 G’s… When the nose reached 60 degrees… I unloaded and did two

full deflection rolls…

Simultaneous with this I hear two voices… “Holy… Sweet Peter… Mother… Joseph and

Jesus… he swapped lanes!” Hoots exclaimed.

“Oh my Gawd… You were in a f**king Rocket Ship”!!! Yelled out Georgia Boy.

That my friends… as they say in the commercial… was priceless… and worth what ever price there was to pay, short of losing ones’ wings.

Then Hoots says… “Holy S**t… You almost blew him off the road… Man, he swapped

lanes two times”!

I continued out ahead for about 2 or 3 miles and pulled up through the vertical… over the

top… and started downhill for another merge… this time head on… As I rolled upright;.

Georgia Boy could see me… and he read my mind…

“Oh God No… Don’t do that!” “Puleease… Don’t do that”! Passing through about

5,000 feet… I regained my senses and I leveled off and made a wide sweeping turn

around the truck.

Now relieved of another attack… Georgia Boy gets diarrhea of the mouth…. “Hot

damn… Nobody’s gonna believe this! Nobody will believe I got run off the road by a

Rocket Ship…! Recon… Give me your phone number… I’m gonna win some money at the

bar tonight… S**t… Fire… this is unbelievable!” Even Hoots was laughing now… I

happened to look up into the side mirror and noticed the crows feet around my eyes that

the oxygen mask caused from my smiling… this was a wonderful moment… one you’ll

never forget.

I finally came back to reality and saw I was below 7,500 lbs. of fuel… I called him on the

radio and said… “Georgia Boy… We’d love to stay around a play… But I’m running out

of gas… We’re gonna have to break it off and head back to base”. If I’d had one ounce of

gray matter still working… instead of operating on pure adrenaline… I wouldn’t have

said another word… But whoever said Marines were smart?

Now I didn’t want some Redneck calling my house in the middle of the night… drunk

and trying to settle a bar bet… I wasn’t about to give him my home phone number. But

my mouth engaged before my brain reacted… and I said, “Hey, here’s the Ready Room

phone number… call me there and I’ll back you up”.

What a stupid son of a bitch I was!

The rest of the flight was uneventful… The generator stayed on line, I picked up my

clearance, flew back to El Toro, landed and as I signed the Maintenance forms… Phil

Seward… my Maintenance Chief… said “Boss… Don’t know what you did… But the

CO, XO and OPS-O… are waiting for you in the Ready Room”!

Euphoria was about to turn into HACQ (House Arrest, Confined to Quarters)… I’ll spare

you the details… I got a butt chewing and thought I was toast… until the XO smiled

when he said I had to answer all these damn phones calls from all over the West Coast (Oregon, Idaho, Nevada, Arizona and California)… 300 watts does indeed… go a long way… One poor old lady who heard my next to last radio transmission and was sure I

was running out of gas out in the desert, said someone needs to go… “Help that Boy”.

He then said, “What freq were you using”? I handed him the note from the twidget… and he smiled and tore it up. When word got around the squadron… I enjoyed new status with the troops… But I had to “check six” for a long time… especially around the Heavies… But you want to know the truth…

I ENJOYED EVERY FREAKIN’ SECOND OF IT!